


Service

by Lyssandra_Med



Series: One-Shot [29]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bellamione Cult War, Dark Hermione Granger, Discord: Bellamione Cult, F/F, Horcruxes, One Shot, Team Furbae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 12:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20994899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssandra_Med/pseuds/Lyssandra_Med
Summary: Nothing remained, nothing but elation and service.Nothing but them.Nothing but Her.





	Service

“She’s not right,” Ronald murmured behind the veil of the tent with his words (presumably) hidden beneath a layer of silencing charms and the distance that Hermione had put between them as of late.

Too little though; his charms were all second rate and though she wandered she had learned early on not to leave those two all on their own without at least some measure of protection. And sound detection runes (each keyed to her and her alone) were simply far more benefit than the occasional overhead confession would detract. 

Especially on occasions like this one; moments when Harry had sent her to ward their little sleeping area and inadvertently given Ronald just enough time to air his particular set of grievances. Grievances that, although true, were becoming entirely too bothersome to allow them to continue flourishing.

She was _ dark. _

_ “Look at how many curses she knows! She never knew them back at school!” _

She spent too long _ alone. _

_ “She just stares at that damned necklace and sits out there, by herself, doing nothing!” _

She pushed them too _ hard. _

_ “Blimey Harry, we haven’ had a proper meal in ages, _ ** _please_ ** _ tell her we need to recoup, we can’t keep going at this pace!” _

She _ killed. _

_ “That wasn’ no stunner mate, you saw it plain as I did; that was green-” _

And worst of all, at least in his poor little mind, she didn’t love _ him. _

_ “She’s a different person! She won’ even let me come near her anymore, she’s pushin’ us both away!” _

While all those complaints might have all been correct (and only the very least of his constant taunts and torments), he still had no reason to call her out on it. This little venture had lasted longer than any of them had initially entertained, longer than they had planned on, longer than was worth. Or…

It might have been, if she hadn’t found _ it _ during their last tangle with Death Eaters.

Their last fight with _ Her. _

In a random moment after the sound of spells had ceased ringing through her ears she had found a skull, a jackdaw to be precise, metallic and heavy as it hung at the end of a looped cord of leather twine. The necklace wasn’t special to anyone but _ them, _ the woman who had worn it and the woman who now cared for it.

It was a Horcrux, Hermione was quite sure of it, but also already so heavily enchanted that it seemed to have held a portion of the woman’s soul even before that twisted bit of black magic wormed its way into and through the item. Bellatrix Black (Lestrange having caught the wrong end of a sharpened spike from a railroad sent careening off at nearly three times the speed of sound during one of their little near-death escapes) had made the enchanted item with her own two hands, a fact that Hermione found quite impressive in its own right.

The skull was made from some sort of alloy that she couldn’t identify with the limited selection of tools and spells that she had on hand. What she was able to determine was that it was a heavy metal that wasn’t lead, didn’t corrode, and seemed for all the world to be impervious to any high temperature. Not that she had tried very hard, she’d no wish to destroy the priceless object, and any further testing would have alerted the Dimwitted Duo to her having found something more normal than just a souvenir from battle. There were pockmarks on the outer edges of the beak and eye sockets, little indentations that revealed the nigh uncountable small actions that it had taken to shape and warp the material into a proper form, hundreds of repetitive little actions that left it rough and textured beneath the thumb that she ran over it again and again, until a heat began to radiate upwards and into her flesh.

It had whispered to her when she had first picked it up off the ground, plucked with deft fingers from where it had fallen in between two sharp rocks. The jagged edges had bitten into the back of her hand when reached for it until two thin lines dripping red had fallen down to coat and slick the unpolished metal; words that _ cackled _ and _ sang _ invading her mind when she brought it up to hang around her neck.

And now, two months later, she could finally understand the words.

_ ‘Come,’ _ had been one of them, whispered fervently whenever she was alone or alienated by her baggage.

_ ‘Learn,’ _came another, her head stuffed between ancient tomes of flesh and bone in search of something (anything) to help them.

_ ‘Grow,’ _ it said, hushed voice wavering somewhere between fervent and nurturing, a lover more than a tutor, the ethereal hiss holding promise of knowledge and power that she knew she would otherwise be forbidden from.

_ ‘Love,’ _ it crowed with a siren’s tone, warmth and heat spreading through her limbs as the metal beat along with her own heart.

_ ‘Now,’ _ it commanded, with Ronald’s hushed worries forgotten and ignored.

She went. 

Gladly, expectantly, too full of promises to let the moment go.

There was one single second when her foot was still halfway twisted around before the snap of Apparition could take her, one moment where worry and fear invaded the twisting passages of her heart. 

All of it was gone in an instant that twisted and threw away the doubt like the leaves beneath her feet; leaves that turned to manicured grass and twisting azalea’s formed into monstrous bushes by hand and magic. 

A home, giant and unyielding, standing before her until it had blocked out all of the horizon.

A woman, standing tall with windblown hair of darkness swirling around her form, a crooked smile on her face, and darkness behind her eyes.

\---

Corsets cinched far, _ far _ tighter than she would have imagined. Not that she had ever seriously done so back before her ascension. No, she’d never put a thought towards them with the exception of her Mistress and how lovely they looked upon her.

Corsets kept her body rigid, posture straight, torso pointing forward with conviction and dedication to not succumb to something so silly as a lack of air or an ache in her ribs.

The dresses made her mindful of her steps, mindful of her place when not ensconced within the privacy of _ Her _ room, made her aware that presence and decorum were everything in this new world that they all pushed for. Her Mistress was a wonderful teacher, as wonderful as the metal around her neck had promised, and she pushed her towards completion with a better path and stronger methods than any of her former mentors or peers had been willing to supply.

She also taught her spellwork and dueling; two disciplines that she knew she would need in the coming weeks and months, or at least until the world had been remade in their chosen image. Practice from sunup to brunch, theory from then until midday, services towards her Mistress and their Lord until such a time as Narcissa deigned to have the elves serve dinner. Regimented, orderly, and filled to the brim with knowledge and instruction that she would never have had before.

But still nothing could prepare her for this moment, not fully at least.

Nothing would ever be enough to prepare her for the moment when her wand was pointed at those she had once loved and cherished. Their eyes weren’t very cherishing at the moment, weren’t filled with love or affection anymore. No, these eyes were hard and broken beneath a veil of tears and sweat. 

No matter. Her Mistress had given her an order, an instruction, a deed to accomplish before she was able to return.

Wordless Avada’s were rare (the amount of anger and hate, willpower and desire, necessary to accomplish the spell without words was absolutely _ massive), _ but she had all that in spades thanks to her new education and way of living. She could fire that spell for ages before tiring, and all without even the littlest bit of help from the metal skull hanging down the middle of her chest.

And her Mistress had commanded this; had requested it with pleading eyes and a plunging tongue, whispers and affirmations rolling from her lips to tease Hermione’s sweat slick skin until she was cooled and drowning her beneath a love that she could _ feel. _The ritual to allow her that had nearly killed her and her Mistress, had nearly stripped their souls instead of split them. Their salvations had lain with their Lord’s experience, and without only a minimal amount of pain they came through that trial unscathed and split between themselves, and Hermione wasn’t one to turn away the special favors that her newfound family had gifted her.

Green light bathed the room, her skin and her clothes, warm meat spilling across the ground when she was done.

Nothing remained, nothing but elation and service.

Nothing but _ them. _

Nothing but _ Her. _

**Author's Note:**

> Like Bellamione? https://discord.gg/pcfMU4F come on in and join the server!


End file.
